


All the Divine's Men

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Cassandra and Cullen are just confidants until somehow, something shifts along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoCustos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoCustos/gifts), [morrezela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/gifts), [ScarletLoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletLoup/gifts), [sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/gifts), [tempered_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Lyrium addiction/withdrawal... however, I can't promise it's depicted as well as some may wish/trigger warning in case that is a sensitive topic. I tried to not just sweep it under the rug, but it's not going to be super duper dark iykwim.

“We all have scars, Seeker. Yours is just the biggest.” 

Varric rested a booted foot on top of the other, reclining in his chair. Cullen could have kicked a leg out from under him easily. He gritted his teeth instead, swallowing his annoyance. There still was a few days left on the ship. It wouldn't make the trip any better to send the dwarf sprawling, not when they were in close quarters. Cassandra merely sighed opposite Varric, also tired of his antagonism. They were all terrible traveling companions for their own reasons: Cassandra grew terse, Varric instigative, and Cullen, he'd foolishly given up lyrium before embarking on a several week tour. It took all he had not to snap. 

“I'm going up,” he said, not intending either to follow.

“I will join you,” said Cassandra.

He could hardly argue. 

Above board, Cullen began to feel far better. The stale air was replaced with crisp wind, cooling his damp skin and sending tendrils of his hair flying. The moon filled the sky, reflecting brightly off the waves lapping against their ship. He should have come up sooner, but the spinning withdrawal had kept him miserably in place, in his head. 

“I find I prefer it up here as well,” Cassandra said beside him. She rested her forearms on the ledge and bowed her head, the seeker's dark hair  reflecting silver moonlight. 

“You have stopped taking lyrium,” she said, as if casually observing the color of his shirt. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he made to respond, but Cassandra caught up with herself. “I meant no disrespect. I understand the Chantry asks much of you -- of templars.” She looked away from the water, starting at him instead, surely reading the lines of anger and exhaustion leaching from his face. “I only mean to offer my support.” 

Couldn't she see this was private? Didn’t she have enough sense to leave him at his misery? Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his now dry neck. Cassandra was blunt and not always sensitive to the feelings of others, traits that Cullen had been trying to supress in himself. But one failing she did not have was deception. If Cassandra offered her hand, you could take it without doubt. The seeker was earnest to a fault. Cullen begrudgingly respected her for it. 

“Alright,” he muttered. Then a bit louder, “I mean to give it up completely.” She only nodded as if to encourage him to continue. “It will not be easy, I know that. The nightmares, the headaches, the infernal noise in my mind.” He sighed again, closing his eyes and letting the sea breeze calm his rioting pulse. His life had been full of tests; always Cullen had been tested, his worth, his determination, his faith. He hoped he would not fail this one. 

“The dwarf is right -- even if annoying. We all have scars. This one is difficult for many others to see, but it does not make it less meaningful.” She groaned at herself and threw up her hands. “We have been spending too much time with Varric. I am speaking in riddles!”

Cullen smirked. “I understand what you mean.”

“Good,” she said. “You do not have to suffer alone.”

*

Demons fell from the open, broken sky. Cullen had witnessed so much chaos in his life, but this... His first thought was to the lyrium.  _ I should be taking it.  _

Fighting demons without his templar abilities wasn’t impossible, but it would have been much easier to dispell them than slash continuously. Temptation simmered just below the surface of his skin, pulses growing stronger with each swing, each cut. Tired muscles screamed in agony.  _ If you take it, you will win. If you take it, you will be stronger. If you take it--  _

__ _ “ _ Cullen!” Cassandra’s shout was well timed. A despair demon drained his energy from behind. Cullen swung with all his might, slicing the ragged beast in two. Cassandra dispatched several more until the field was clear. In the middle of the blast site was a body, crumpled on itself, blond hair spilled out in an arc. Was the woman dead? The absolute stillness unsettled him. Cassandra, and Leliana, who had caught up from camp at some point during the fight, investigated. They walked side-by-side, in step, two hands of the one Divine. The woman who was now dead, possibly thanks to the person surrounded by blackened, scorched dirt. 

The Right and Left checked the body, Leliana kneeling, feeling for a pulse. They conferred and Cassandra shouted back to Cullen. “She is alive!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit this is a brotp for me, but I do love the characters and thought it would be fun to see them end up together for once!


	2. Chapter 2

They were making progress, even without the Divine. Justinia had always intended for the Inquisition to stand alone, a separate order from the Chantry. It had come to pass, though not how anyone had intended. The Herald had luckily jumped to her role, enlisting the rebel mages to their cause and closing the rift. Cassandra may have not agreed with all of the mage’s decisions, but she could not argue with their results. 

T heir combined efforts were plain to see. Cassandra and the Herald stood before the Haven revelers, watching their celebrations. Cassandra offered her congratulations, and of course, the Herald demurred as always. It was her right to be humble; Cassandra had feared for far worse from the mage. She was pleased to be wrong in her assumptions. 

The Herald shuttered at her side, an unease taking over her. The bells began to ring and Cullen approached with haste. A premonition then? “Enemies approaching. To arms!” he yelled.

Cassandra pulled forth her sword. “What the... We must get to the gates.” The Herald trailed only a second behind, reaching for her staff. 

They were greeted by an odd young man with a large floppy hat. Cassandra could barely make out his eyes beneath the brim. He warned them of the approaching troops too late in her opinion. There was nothing for it but more fighting. Cullen roused their forces and then privately pulled Cassandra aside. His hand dug into her arm, tone clipped, desperate.

“Protect Evel--  _ the Herald _ .” Cassandra could have rolled her eyes. Of course she would protect the Herald. Not that the woman needed anyone else to survive; she had already outlived everyone in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Regardless, Cullen’s worry seemed real. She patted his hand. 

“I will.”

   *

Cold wind bit through her clothing. Cassandra marched on. The wolves kept calling. Cassandra marched on. After hours of progress, the twice-anointed survivors set up temporary camp. The tone sombered even further. They were missing an essential part of their party. 

Cassandra sat near Josephine, wrapping an arm around the ambassador. She hardly was dressed for the weather. Deep lines marked her brow. 

“We must not give up hope,” Cassandra offered. Josephine let out a trembling breath and received Cassandra’s warmth gratefully. 

“You are right,” she said. “Evelyn is clever. If anyone could survive...” She suppressed a sniffle and held her chin up. 

Cullen paced the camp, assessing each tent flap, every fire. Cassandra knew he felt useless; she had the same sensation bearing down on her as well. Watching him run circuits, she counted every time he marched by and gave her an accusatory glare. By the eight time, Cassandra called out his foolishness. 

“Cullen, you are driving me mad.” He stopped abruptly, turning on a heel. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to speak?” Josephine cleared her throat as his face grew red. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Cassandra bit back an unpleasant retort and excused herself from Josephine’s side. Glaring Cullen into submission, he followed her beyond the edge of camp, far from anyone else’s notice. Their people hardly needed infighting. All the warmth ran out of her limbs as they reached a natural doorway, the cliffs of two mountains framing a valley beyond. Snow fell all around them. In one of her favorite novels, this would have been romantic. Today she just felt annoyed. 

“I know you are anxious for the Herald’s return, but you do not have to glare at me. I know my duty. Providing Josephine comfort is hardly less important than your incessant stomping through camp.”

Cullen stepped closer. The man did not look well. The bags under his eyes and red veins within aged him considerably. Cassandra thought it due to lyrium withdrawal, not at least combined with the march they’d made haphazardly through the snow. Still, he was being recalcitrant. “You gave your word,” he grumbled. “You were to protect her.”

Understanding dawned on Cassandra. He blamed her for this. That would not stand. 

“You do her sacrifice no credit, Cullen. The Herald decided to meet Corypheus on her own. She is more than capable and does not need you or I to hold her hand.”

A light sparked over Cullen’s shoulder. A green light. She narrowed her eyes and saw a dark mark moving across the white snow, green trailing behind like a demonic shadow. Cassandra pointed, only capable of saying, “Oh!” Cullen spun around and spoke a few lines of the Chant under his breath in awe.  _ And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword. _

As he stumbled forward to collect the Herald, Cassandra standing steadily beside, another dawning occured. In the light of her green mark it all crystalized. Cullen swooped up their fragile leader, exhausted from her journey in the thigh-high snow. A tenderness crossed his expression, one she had never witnessed from him before, but one she had been familiar with herself, years ago. 

_ Oh, he is in love with her. And how not? _


	3. Chapter 3

Marian Hawke sat on his desk. This time, in this place, it was the least of his troubles.

"Varric never told me how important you’d become, Curly.” He looked up from under his brow, barely giving the Champion the satisfaction of a response. “No really, you’ve come a long way from Kirkwall. I’m surprised. Impressed even. There are mages all over here and you’re just fine with it.”

She tapped her nails on the edge of his desk. Rap, rap, rap. Rap, rap, rap. The sounds amplified due to his splitting head.

"Enough!” he barked. “Can’t you bother someone else? Cassandra read your entire book on the passage over. Twice.”

Marian laughed, sliding down into the chair she’d pulled opposite him. “Well, your people skills haven’t changed.”

Cullen humphed but supposed she was right. Quitting lyrium was supposed to be a positive change. So far he had only irritability, sleepless nights and splitting headaches. All day he doubted he could do any better without it, and all evening he was sure of it. He tossed and turned and contemplated the kit in his desk drawer. Today he'd gotten no farther than a stack of correspondences regarding trebuchets. With Hawke haranguing him for amusement nothing would get done.

“Really, what do you want?” He dropped the papers and gave her his full attention.

“Just wanted to check on you.” She raised a palm, pledging. “Earnest. You came through in the end, when it mattered. Thought I'd see if the stress of the Inquisition was treating you better than the stress of Kirkwall.”

“And?” He asked dryly.

“Honestly, you look like shit. Get some sleep, get laid. Corypheus is a blighted ass, but he's better than Meredith. Not half as self righteous.” She winked. Despite himself, Cullen chuckled. Hawke slapped a palm decisively on the desk and stood up. “Welp, I’m off then. My job’s done.”

He was surprised by how much he appreciated the levity. Even if it was to be momentary. Before now, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed. Not since Haven. Work surmounted everything else; between the blips of sleep he stumbled down the ladder to scribble under candlelight. By dawn he stood first on the practice field, waiting for his troops to arrive. The rumor was their Commander had an identical twin. No way could their leader be all the places he was. The truth was all too depressing. Cullen just never stopped. And yet (there was always an “and yet”), he doubted it was enough.

“Hawke, if you see Cassandra would you ask her to come speak with me?”

Hawke blew a raspberry; he thought she would get on well with Sera. “Get her yourself. You could use the break.”

He found time to search for Cassandra after completing several large missives. The seeker wasn't splitting her practice dummies, nor conferring in the main hall or pacing in front of Josephine's desk. Cullen dragged himself to her loft above the forge, which seemed too personal a spot for the conversation he wished to have.

He was wrong. Cassandra's room was ascetic; a pallet and pillow rested in one corner. A small table with a half-melted candle sat near a window. The only indulgence was a stack of books. Cullen bent forward to examine the titles: _Tales of the Champion, Swords and Shields, Lady of the Knight_ , and so on. Half the books were by Varric, most were romantic pulp. Cullen's brows raised of their own accord. He hadn't realized Cassandra held a hidden romantic side.

“Do you wish to borrow one?” she asked.  Another smirk crept across Cullen's lips. “I have read them so often already.”

“What is your favorite?” he asked over his shoulder. He'd surprised himself with the question.

“I am partial to Swords and Shields. But do not tell Varric. His head is already far too large.”

Cullen found it in the pile and pulled it free. He opened it to a random page and read aloud. “‘Her chest heaved with passion--’”

Cassandra ripped the book out of his hands. “Do not just start in the middle. You need the build up to appreciate the passage!”

“I had no idea you enjoyed reading so much,” said Cullen. He looked out the window then paced along the railing, adjusting his heavy fur mantle. He was burning up; the forge’s flames burned brightly below. Why was he nervous? He knew what needed to be done.

“Of course you did. I read the entire trip here. But you did not come to speak about my secret hobbies. Out with it, Cullen.”

He hesitated, remembering when Cassandra had first offered her support, then his subsequent ill treatment of her after Haven. That had been a particularly... trying time. The loss of their people, the defeat. It had been too much. Combined with the feelings he had developed for the Inquisitor, Cullen acted a fool. Cassandra deserved better behavior from him. This fact only strengthened his case, assuaged any doubt.

“Is this -- are you here about the Inquisitor?” Cassandra perked up, clutching her book to her chest.

“I-- _no_. What?” Didn't she realize--

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “I know how you feel about Evelyn. Normally I would advise caution, but the daring rescue, the snowfall. It was all so--”

“Unreal,” he interrupted. “The Inquisitor is in love with Josephine. I admit I was perhaps infatuated, but that is behind us now.”

Cassandra looked crushed. Cullen felt even a bit guilty for bursting the romantic scene she had conjured in her head. He had pictured it as well, hoped that the Inquisitor might have cared for him. Evelyn had let him down gently, assuring Cullen he was a good man, but that was the problem. He was a bit inexperienced when it came to romance, but not entirely devoid of sense when it came to matters of desire. And once the sheen of the idea wore off, he realized he had no time anyway. It couldn't have possibly worked. He was glad for the Inquisitor and Josephine. Someone deserved happiness.

Cassandra placed the book on top of her stack. She patted it gently before folding her hands behind her back. “What is it then?”

Cullen inhaled sharply, then spoke with conviction. “The lyrium... it’s relentless. I need you to observe me. If I cannot perform my duties I trust you to find my replacement.”

Cassandra scowled. “I am flattered you trust me, but you're not giving up.”

“Yet,” he agreed. “But I'm running out of energy to continue in this way.”


	4. Chapter 4

It took less than a week for Cullen to ask for his replacement. Cassandra had not seen a need. He’d done nothing wrong, there was no doubt to his commitment. He was far more productive when he couldn't sleep. When she could not convince him that his path was far from selfish, Evelyn stepped in and succeeded. Perhaps he just needed permission from their leader. Cassandra thought he wanted approval from the woman he still cared for.

Cassandra was also distracted by sleepless nights. Amid her duties to the Inquisitor, Cassandra used Leliana’s network of spies to locate her Order. The seekers hid from their duty, ignoring the mages and templars and now Corypheus. She could not stomach it. Once before, when she was still young and idealistic, Cassandra had discovered how easily members of the Chantry could be corrupted. She had not anticipated dealing with such corruption in her life again.  

Beating out her uncertainties on the practice dummies, Evelyn sought out her advice. The other woman watched Cassandra from a distance at first, until Cassandra dropped her shoulders and turned around to face the Inquisitor. She was the model of patience. It was no wonder Evelyn and Josephine found comfort in one another. Cullen’s impulsive tendencies would have driven the Inquisitor mad.

“I’d like your advice, Cassandra,” Evelyn said. “I think we have a lead on Samson. Varric informed me that Cullen knows the man from Kirkwall, that he’s quite fixated on him. I know you are close -- confidants -- do you think it a good idea to involve him with this? I’d hate to push him beyond what he’s capable of managing.”

Cassandra laughed, full of mirth. “How do you think he will fare once he discovers you have purposely left him out of it?” Evelyn half-grimaced, nodding in agreement with Cassandra’s assessment as if it didn’t wholly surprise her. Even so, it warmed Cassandra to be asked in the first place, even if just to confirm what Evelyn already knew.

"You’re right, of course. Thank you.” She turned away then abruptly looked back. “I didn’t forget about your seekers either. Tomorrow.”

Cassandra went back to beating the dummies.

*

Falling to one’s death was not a sensation she wanted to repeat. Cassandra disliked the fade about as much. She had so many questions for the pseudo-divine, but the duplicitous nature of spirits dissuaded her from asking anything. The secret of tranquility burned on her tongue. In the fade were spirits many who could attest its truth. Cassandra still felt used, disgusted. Lord Seeker Lucius had not been repentant, but she was willing to be for the rest of her order. Evelyn would be incensed, she cared much for the tranquil, pleased every occasion where one joined the Inquisition. She'd been friends with mages who'd been turned after failed harrowings. Most circle mages could say the same. Yet other duties had prevented them from having the conversation about reversing the rite. They'd come back from Caer Oswin to only leave Skyhold for the assault at Adamant. Cassandra had read about the truth on the road.

She vowed to speak with her leader as soon as possible. Then Stroud had been left behind in the fade, the Champion departed for Weisshaupt and Evelyn asked not to be disturbed, processing her thoughts on the fade in solitude. The bulk of their forces headed home while a select few tramped through the sands to Griffon Wing Keep. There she found herself next to Cullen, obtaining food from one of the stalls on the ground floor.

He seemed happier than he'd ever been, buoyed by the victory of his men and the success with his trebuchets. The chuffed expression looked good on him, brightening his complexion and lighting his eyes. He spoke with animation to the stall vendor, an all-too effusive pleasantry regarding fruit in her opinion. The Inquisition had supplied the stall after all.

“You seem much better,” she offered, collecting her small plums in hand. Cullen bit into his apple and nodded aye, gesturing her to lead with a slight bow and outstretched arm. She wound her way to the top of the keep, where harsh winds would not carry their conversation, but dampen it. Cullen stopped momentarily to speak with Knight Captain Rylen, the two men chuckling dryly over something private. He joined her side shortly after, a boyish bashfulness at his detour with the Knight Captain.

“I have not seen you this way before!” Cassandra remarked with surprise. “Has your sleep improved, or is it just the result of yesterday’s battle?” She bit into the tender plum and had to wipe away the juice on her chin.

“I believe it is both,” he said. “Or perhaps one is the result of the other. Last night I fell into my pallet and didn’t rise until morning.”

“You feel useful,” Cassandra nodded. “I hope for all of us that can continue.” Cassandra shifted fruits between her hands. “Cullen, I discovered something -- a secret that will cause further divide from the Chantry, but I am unable to conceal it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” His voice turned sarcastic and dry, and while she regretted turning him from his mood, she trusted his opinion.

“It is about the rite of tranquility.” He flinched, surely thinking of Kirkwall and Meredith’s foolhardy use of the rite. “It appears the seekers have always known how to reverse the rite, from the beginning of the order.”

The fact sunk in, abject anger beginning to form on his face. “And yet templars were set to do it. All those times I-- or one of my men-- had to perform the ritual. I can’t pretend it was worse for us. But after the Chantry learned of Meredith’s loose application of the rite-- why did no one step in, to fix what we’d done?”

“I cannot say. I thought to rebuild the seekers once victory was ours. Now I’m not certain it deserves to be rebuilt.”

Cullen shook his head bitterly. “I’m not either.”

The mood properly soured, the two sat in silence, contemplating the toll of their respective orders. Cassandra felt all in conflict -- distraught, yet yearning to do better. Others had failed spectacularly. Wasn’t it her purpose to do what was right? But knowing to _do right_ was different than knowing what right was.  

 


	5. Chapter 5

Time passed quickly after Adamant, a grueling pace that Cullen actually appreciated. They gained momentum, critical steps were made -- Samson for one was almost in reach. The Inquisitor promised they’d prioritize finding him after their work in Halamshiral was complete. Samson felt like the last thorn in Cullen’s side. His hold on the lyrium cravings had improved, as well as his sleep and general mood. Because of their victory, Haven far behind them but never forgotten, Cullen felt more assured of his place in the Inquisition. He could serve others with the strength and determination he thought was within him. No drug was necessary to be a good commander. He did still have his failings. The impulse to distrust mages was yet within him, but knowing this to be true made his dealings with the rebel mages in Skyhold more circumspect. He weighed decisions regarding their care and use within his ranks with steady reserve, and double-checked with the Inquisitor when he felt a punishment or detriment was in order. He would not repeat Kirkwall.

Cullen was also a poor diplomat. This was abundantly clear before entering the Winter Palace -- after was a whole other level of inadequate. 

The Inquisitor had dispatched Florianne and saved Celene. Cullen would have had it all done away with, and given power to the Grand Duke. The man was a military mind and it seemed Orlais was in need of reigning in their people. But a Fereldan, through and through, Cullen could have cared less for fripperies and frocks. The nobles flocked to him in droves however, sensing his obvious lack of discomfort. 

“You would do best to remove your hand,” said Cassandra at one of these simpering nobles. The man’s hand had been placed on his backside, but Cassandra had seen the assault and intervened. Cullen had never been more grateful for her intimidating stare. 

“Is this one yours? Such stamina I am sure! If you'd ever like to share--”

Both their faces flushed red. Cassandra stammered until the man laughed and pranced away, finding another one of his kind to prattle on with. Despite having been in each other's company for more than a year, they had never been intimately linked before. Cullen didn't know what to say beyond how ridiculous the exchange had been, but neither of their complexions returned to normal. As if fated to sit in uncomfortable reflection forever, Evelyn and Josephine glided over in their gossamer gowns. 

“You look as if you've been caught cavorting in public!”Josephine teased. Cassandra groaned, yet looked away. 

“I don't know how you stand it,” he said. “These people are absurd, jostling and stabbing each other in the back.” 

“Not literally,” said Josephine. “However, the game is not for everyone.”

She and Evelyn shared a look, one they probably believed was discreet, but Cullen knew it was condescension. They meant no harm. He -- and Cassandra -- were abysmal players of the great game. No, Cullen preferred people to be straight with him. 

“How much longer do they require our presence?” Cassandra asked. She’d collected herself, and showed no sign of embarrassment. 

“Oh, I’d say at least a few more hours,” said Josephine. “But perhaps it would pass easier if you two danced. It would be less likely for you to be accosted on the floor,” she teased.

He found it impossible to hide his dismay. “I don’t dance.”

“Me either,” said Cassandra. 

Evelyn shook her head and laughed, squeezing Josephine at her side. “You  _ are _ entirely alike. Well, enjoy the wandering hands. You make yourselves targets out here.” She turned to Josephine. “Shall we?” They kissed and the pair drifted off into the crowd, linked arm-in-arm, nosy Orlesians turning heads as they passed. A small ache in his chest at the sight was ignored. Cullen didn’t have the energy to figure out why he felt anything at all. 

A week later he was back in his element, sword in hand, out in the field. It had been so long since he actually fought, instead of standing behind various slabs of wood, either his desk or the war table, making sweeping decisions that would affect them all. The atmosphere in the temple was hardly rejuvenating, however.  They’d tracked Samson down to the Shrine of Dumat and now he had the chance to catch the man before he could assault Cullen’s men once again. Samson would see how it felt to feel the might of the Inquisition on his doorstep. Or at least the might of the Inquisitor. She’d opted for a small party to accompany her on this mission: himself, Varric, Madame de Fer and of course, Cassandra. 

Cassandra accompanied the Inquisitor everywhere. It had been so since the beginning; she seemed to serve as Evelyn’s personal guard and mentor in one. He knew the appeal. Cassandra was forthright, steady and willing to listen. She also eliminated everything in her path without flinching. He’d yet to test her in the practice field, more out of self preservation than anything else. Cullen knew of her antics as a young woman -- that story was told to every templar. She was quite the legend. 

At the shrine she felled a behemoth, dodging its club-like arm and striking from the rear. It bellowed, the sound making his stomach clench. These used to be men -- perhaps templars he once knew, once presided over. In a different life, one where there was no Cassandra, it could have been him. After this thought occurred, he found himself tracking her as she fought foe after foe, turning the idea over in his mind. Not everyone would have given him a chance after Kirkwall. Cassandra had offered him a chance to change, an opportunity to lead without the leash. He'd been not entirely fair to her at times, and far too reserved in their companionship. She deserved better.

He didn't have time to ruminate; the shrine was burning  down. Finding Maddox disturbed them all. Cullen felt his anger rising. Cassandra had told Inquisitor about the rite of tranquility's reversal and now before them sat a dying tranquil, bound to Samson. Evelyn glanced accusingly at Cassandra while Maddox spoke. Cullen wanted to vouch for her. There was nothing for it -- Meredith had made this shell of a man before them, not the seekers. If anything, Cullen deserved the scorn.

“Samson saved me before he even needed me... He gave me purpose again,” Maddox said. Cullen felt a pang; he too had been given purpose again. Though thus far no one required him to sacrifice himself. That had been something he’d decided on his own. “I... wanted to help...” Maddox’s voice trailed off, his skin turning paler, his breathing stopping altogether. Cullen bowed his head, shaking at the senseless loss of life. He gritted his teeth and stood, returning to the Inquisitor’s side. 

“We should check the camp, Maddox might have missed something.”

He strode off to search himself, too bitter for company. He was drawn to a table standing in the middle of the chaos, its papers in disarray. On top was a letter.

“Samson left a message. For me.”

“What does it say?” Evelyn asked from across the room. 

“‘Drink enough lyrium and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power.’ And other such nonsense. Does he think I’ll understand? What does he know?”

No one replied. Cullen suspected they were right not to. A creeping tightness spread over his shoulders. Somehow he  _ did  _ understand, at least part of it, only serving to anger him further. He crumpled up the note and tossed it to one of the fiery corners of the room. It would crumble in time, just as Samson would. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You can speak to me, or not,” she said. Cullen faced the fire, watching the embers as if he was still back there, in the shrine. She’d wonder if the lyrium had bothered him, but so far, he did not appear to be suffering from more than serious contemplation. “Or, ignore me entirely,” she quipped. 

Cullen glanced up. She cracked a sideways grin as he spotted  _ Swords and Shields _ in her hand. “It’s my signed copy,” she joked. 

“You’re not suggesting I read that.”

“Of course not -- I am not without sense. I will read it to you.” He laughed quietly, making room at his side. Cassandra sat with the fire at her back, leaning against Cullen’s shoulder and squinting at the words. Luckily she’d read it so many times before that though it was hard to see, the story came easily.

“‘It was a truth universally acknowledged that the Knight Captain was in want of a good knife.’” Varric groaned from the dark beyond their fire. “Stop complaining. You love it, dwarf.” 

 

Thus began a tradition, wherein Cassandra read the entirety of Swords and Shields to Cullen. She forced him to eat meals, reading while he inhaled soup or ripped off pieces of bread. In Skyhold he feigned indifference at first. She persisted, walking around his office reciting until she'd noticed he was watching, entranced by the story. She read every single part, even the smutty passages that caused her to blush all the way to her roots. During these chapters she refused to look at Cullen. If she had, she would have caught a similar reaction in the commander.

Within the time it took for her to read the first issue, Dagna created a rune out of the parts they'd discovered at the Shrine of Dumat. By the completion of the second, they'd marched nearly all the way to the Arbor Wilds to put her rune to its test. In theory it would make Samson's armor easier to destroy. Cassandra hoped they could capture the cretin, if only so Cullen could find some closure in it. He'd been both excited and anxious at the prospect of stopping the man for good.  

“Is that all?” he asked. They sat near the fire in their customary position, shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions. A small group sat nearby as well, Sera and Cole were frequent visitors; Evelyn only listened occasionally, but now Josephine sat between her knees, draping her arms across Evelyn's thigh. 

“I have the next issue in my pack,” she said. 

“Oh, do go on,” Josephine said. 

“Yes,” Cole added. “I want to know where they hid the body. Do you think it was the chimney?” 

Sera blew a raspberry, then stretched like a cat. “What? No. Things in the floor, innit?”

“How could a body do that?”

Hearing quite enough, Varric chimed in. “Do you really think I'd write something so obvious?”

“Her bitties were pretty obvious,” Sera snickered, using her hands to demonstrate a large chest. Cassandra groaned while Varric sighed with long-suffering anguish. 

“No one appreciates the craft.”

Cullen shook beside her. Immediately dismayed, she touched his shoulder and spoke at low volume. “Are you alright?” Perhaps he was suffering in silence, even though it had been so long since he'd been affected by withdrawal. He placed his hand on hers and a spark of feeling raced up her arm and straight to her chest. Surprised, she leaned back to find him laughing silently. Cassandra smiled nervously, heart thumping with reckless abandon. 

The next day they marched, arriving in the Arbor Wilds before mid morning. She'd slept poorly the night before, tossing and turning at the thought of their touch. Had he felt the same jolt of connection? If so, Cullen gave no sign of it, leading a group of Orlesian Chevaliers and Inquisition troops to clear the forest of Samson's red templars. She'd stayed behind with Evelyn as she finished her preparations, only able to wish him luck as he strode off with confidence. Her insides twisted with a sort of anxious anticipation she'd not felt in years. What did it all mean? Was she experiencing romantic feelings for Cullen? It seemed abdurb in her own mind -- they were close confidants, she respected his drive and dedication, but could she care for him in another kind of way? As they left the main camp and headed for the temple of Mythal, she convinced herself that regardless if she experienced romantic feelings, there was no possible way they could be returned.

_ Look at Evelyn, _ she thought.  _ She is buxom and blond. If that is his taste I cannot compare. I'm nearly twice her age.  _

Cassandra sliced down red templars with little flourish, her mind occupied on the puzzle of what had happened. They followed the river downstream, crossing fallen bridges and overgrown buildings. Venatori, red templars and corrupted wardens died at her blade. Her greaves were streaked pink, blood diluted by the river water. No one in their party spoke, which suited her fine. It was a mercy the dwarf held his tongue for once.

The temple came into view. At its base stood a small, shallow lake. Cullen and several of his men battled a pair of Grey Wardens, red templars spitting lyrium yards away. He held up his shield to catch the spray and turned out his sword to catch one of the wardens beneath the chin. Cassandra found herself in a strange sort of spell, frozen to the spot and unable to look away. Was a mage keeping her fixed? 

One of Varric's bolts found the other warden's eye, and as its body splashed into the lake the red templars bowed over from Evelyn's mark. Cullen lowered his shield and approached Evelyn. 

“We'll keep it clear for you,” he said. 

“You're not coming with?” Cassandra found herself asking. “Samson is inside.” 

He turned towards her. Cassandra's heart flipped in her chest, driving out the air in her lungs. He really was quite good looking, dashingly handsome as one of the heroes might be described in her books. He smiled as if it were for her alone, tugging up at one of the corners. 

_ Don't be foolish. _

“As much as I would relish the chance, my duty is here, to keep the enemy from your backs.” 

“We'll get him,” Evelyn vowed. They shared a nod of mutual appreciation and Cassandra swore she saw his clear preference in it. He'd been infatuated with her once, he'd said. Did infatuation every really cease to exist? It seemed like a knife; it could dull in time, but it would always be capable of harm. 

He came to her side as Evelyn lead the others away. Cassandra felt slack-jawed and snapped her mouth shut, expression hardening. “I will not let him succeed.”

“I know,” he said. “But take care.” Haltingly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She felt the same sparks, like Dorian's magic gone awry. She cleared her throat of its feeling.

“Thank you, Cullen.” 

He nodded and she was off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean to have the next and final chapter posted asap! Hope you are enjoying so far. :)


	7. Chapter 7

He never had been so impatient to return home. As a templar he'd seldom felt comfortable in his station, certainly not after Ferelden. And despite his sister's best efforts, he didn't have a desire to return to the place he was raised. Skyhold was as close to a proper home than he suspected he'd ever get, despite its drafty halls and the hole in his roof. The strange, ancient place had grown on him, and now marching from the Arbor Wilds was a practice in patience, particularly without Cassandra there. The comfort of his familiar room wasn't the only reason he longed to be back. Cullen couldn't deny his feelings for Cassandra had changed somewhere between the Winter Palace and the spirited nights in camp. 

The readings had everything to do with it, along with the pesky noble who'd insinuated they'd shared more than just each other's confidence. He'd never considered her in that way before, but once said... Cullen couldn't shake the idea of it. He was only a man after all and not without his imperfections.

The only consolation for the ache came from knowing Samson was in their clutches at last. Cullen couldn't undo the madman's actions, but he could see the right punishment delivered. Despite knowing exactly where the man was held, Cullen resisted speaking with him. A simmering need to prove himself kept him at bay; no good could come from such an acrimonious display. Cassandra would have disapproved greatly, and he tethered himself to that fact. For weeks. While it took minutes for the Inquisitor and her party to slam through a magical mirror and return to Skyhold, Cullen and his forces marched for a fortnight. 

When the tired group crossed the bridge, they managed to muster enthusiasm. For while they were aching and weary, his troops cared for the fortress as much as he did, and a bright burst of pride filled him as the men and women filed past him jubilantly, returning to their quarters. The campaign had been largely successful and now they all deserved a day of respite. Cullen knew exactly what he had to do and after the last man had passed, didn’t let a single soul deter him. Weeks of contemplating provided just enough courage to get him to Cassandra's door. Whether or not he'd flounder upon arrival was yet to be seen.

He crept up the steps to her loft. Luckily she was there, sitting beneath the window, reading a book. She looked like a fine portrait, light flooding over her shoulder, shadowing one side of her face. The sunlight touched her hair as well, reminding him of the night on the ship to Ferelden, when she'd offered her support. Cullen's stomach clenched. His hand found his neck. He cleared his throat and she jumped in her seat. 

“Cullen!” She shot up. “You've returned. I trust everything went well?” Her hands fidgeted with her book.

“Yes, that is, we have Samson. A few are bringing him to a cell until the Inquisitor can see to him.” 

“And did you speak to him? Did he have anything to say for himself?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed; she grew tense.

“No. I--” he stopped. This wasn't progressing as he'd wanted. He wished to speak of the strength she gave him, the way she made him feel. Somehow they’d landed on Samson. He sighed. Cassandra walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You do not have speak of this now, if it is too hard.”

This was why he cared for her. This concern, this pressure-less companionship. Cassandra never made him feel guilty for his past, she inspired him to be better. And it may have been selfish expecting any more from her, but Cullen had spent weeks thinking of how to broach the subject of feelings with a woman who clearly had an abundance of romanticism hid just beneath the surface. Truthfully though, in front of her now, the weeks weren’t enough. His stomach tightened as he reached for the launching-off point, the transition between companionship and relationship. She stared with such concern, such understanding. Cullen feared she’d turn him away with a prescription to rest if he didn’t get the courage to tell her  _ anything. _ The words that came next were not sweet confessions of love and admiration as he intended, though anyone listening carefully could have seen they were the same in spirit. 

“I’ve had time to think it over. Men like Samson exist because of the Chantry’s need to control. I’m no better,” Cassandra’s face pinched, but he waved the concern away, “I’m not, Cassandra. There’s much for me to be ashamed of. But you have an ability to grant people a sense of forgiveness without belaboring their guilt. Had you not intervened in Kirkwall, given me a hand out of that nightmare, I could have been no different than Samson. It was what I deserved. I owe you my life.”

She scoffed, but her cheeks flushed. “You share too much credit with me, Cullen. You are strong willed without my help.”

“It's not true. I'm weak right now.”

“What?”Cassandra grabbed his shoulders and peered into his face, trying to find an outward sign of illness. “Are you... The Lyrium? Have you been exposed?!

He chuckled. Cullen had not intended to speak in riddles. “No, it's not that. I--- why did you start reading to me?”

She glanced side-long at him, as if she wished to throttle his neck for inducing such worry over his health. Shaking her head, Cassandra returned to the window and studied out for a moment. 

“Do you remember the day at Griffon Wing when I told you about the rite of tranquility?” He nodded, but she was still looking away. “You were filled with such cheer and I ruined it. I enjoy your confidence, but I didn't want to burden you with everything when you seemed much improved. And then after the shrine I sensed your anger and I wanted you to be happy again, like that day.”

Cullen smiled, knowing that he’d been worried about this conversation for no reason. Apparently she’d been thinking about this too. “But why?” 

“You are my friend.”

“Is that all?”

Cassandra spun around at last, righteously annoyed with his inquiries. “Are you mocking me?” She narrowed her eyes and Cullen stepped into her light. 

“No-- Maker, I'm terrible at this. I meant to say before, I’m weak for you. I just didn’t know how to say I cared.” Her face softened and her eyes widened with a bit of shock, but Cassandra looked pleased. Cullen reached for her hand, took it in his and drew her near. “I hardly deserve you, but it's been said I’m relentless and demanding.”

“Not by me,” she smiled. “You have not asked for anything more than I was willing to give, Cullen.”

“And now?” 

“Now I am surprised you have learned nothing from the books I have been reading you! To think all these declarations of love have gone over your head for months!”

He had been paying attention. Cullen swept her up in a grand display, bending her slightly at the waist. Cassandra sighed with satisfaction as he kissed her with gratefulness and pent-up affection, running a hand along her back and pulling her as close as physically possible. He was selfish, he was imperfect, but he vowed then to be better, to give Cassandra more than she could ever ask for. They kissed until there was no longer air between them, no longer any doubt of feelings, and once recovered from the exchange, they stood in each other’s raptures for a long while. Cullen felt a sense of peace settle over him. While there was much left for them to do, far more challenges to face, and wrongs to right, they would bear those trials together.  And he would show her every day how grateful he was for it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished. Sorry for the delay. :)


End file.
